Emily Markel Luebcke, Giulio Picchi, and Graham Markel. Ristorante Cibreo, Florence. June 8th, 2012
Emily and
Graham were 12 and 9 when I started. Their sweet natures allowed me to
travel back and forth all these years. Emily lived with the
Picchi/Vitali family for a semester when she was 15 and Giulio was 13.
She now has two children, 4 and 6, and he manages Cibreo as heir
apparent. Graham has been under the wing of many chefs since then and
happens to be a fine cook with a passion for wine making and traveling
the world like his mother.
I founded La Cucina al Focolare in 1992 in
Reggello, on the grounds of The Fattoria Degli Usignoli. We focus on
traditional Tuscan fare, prepared with three wood-fired ovens.
Florentine antiques, Fratellini tables and stone floors give an
authentic feel.
Happiness is Sailing the Amalfi Coast with Peggy Markel's Culinary Adventures. Perche?
5 Reasons....
1. We have the best Captians. Educated (Captain Nardella has a PhD in wild orchids!), Professional, Experienced.
2. The Mediterranean has a higher salt content, which brings out the natural sweetness of the fish. Frutti di Mare...fresh squid, octopus, vongole veraci, cozze!
When describing our culinary adventures, we always tell potential guests to "Expect surprises!" but it can be hard to explain the exact quality of unexpected moments that pop up throughout a trip.
When Natalie Beck, a friend of a friend from Boulder, pulled Peggy's phone number out of her pocket and joined the 2010 Amalfi sailing program last June, the course of her European vacation was changed and she jumped head-first into an experience that she describes as "something out of the movies."
"I was living by the rule of 'Yes'," Natalie explains, "No matter what it was, I decided to say Yes." Saying yes became infinitely easier as she traveled with Peggy among new Italian friends. "I was treated like family by everyone I met, the whole time, because I was with Peggy."
Watch Natalie retell a few of her favorite moments from the trip in this short video clip, filmed at Cafe Aion in Boulder:
During this 20th Anniversary year, we invite you, our alumni, to share your own stories with us! Send us written memories, photos, and video clips of the stories that followed you back home.
Call it love at first sight. Call me a sucker as it happens more times that my fingers can count. Sometimes it’s romantic. Sometimes it’s not. But magic it is.
Being on a sailboat is one of life’s great feelings of liberation. Pulling into port has it’s own metaphor, right out of The Ancient Mariner. The going out to sea.. the coming home. There is a sending off and a welcoming back that is as potent as an in-breath and out-breath of a meditation.
Puttering into the port of Amalfi the first time with our Captain Antonio, I felt an unexpected experience of immense respect. The Port Master, Aniello Sposito, held his gaze with Antonio for the longest time until our boat had been steered into the proper spot. (If you know anything about boats, this is tricky at best, but risky as well with the neighboring real estate.)
At 63, Aniello is as nimble as an amphibian, jumping in and out of the water for tangled anchors, hopping from boat to boat to secure the fenders, tossing the ropes to the first mate to draw the boat up to the dock and to secure with sailor knots. I have been out of many ports where the marina guys do the same work, usually lazily and not with much presence. But Aniello was different. His work was easeful, skillful and dare I say? Sexy. His job is an opera del’arte a piedi nudi (a barefoot work of art).
A quiet man with deep, piercing eyes, his presence has more than dignity, he has heart. He nods knowingly when the boat is secure and shakes hands with the Captain. He raises a welcoming hand to the others on board, then sets off. It has felt similar to a blessing; an Ave Maria of sorts. As we settle in, put out our gangplank and set up for an aperitivo, Aniello is already back with a bottle of Limoncello. His bright eyes flash a smile as he hands over the bottle, the other is over his heart. We ask him to stay and join us. Even though he nods positively and politely, he is gone again. The next thing we know, he is back with a few boxes of fresh pizza from his favorite place.
This sort of generosity is not uncanny for the Costiera Amalfitana or the Neopolitan way, yet the vein of his intelligent humility is exceptional. His job and the people he meets who recognize this mean the world to him. His father and his grandfather were port master before him. The respect he has for them is
sacred. He carries a brilliant lineage from times gone by. He will tell you stories of how his father treated everyone fairly and respectfully from Fiat giant Agneilli, President Kennedy, down to the local fisherman. Aniello is also one such man. He will tell you everyone loved his father. If we were to say, ‘everyone loves you too’, he would then again, hand over his heart, say, “my father was ‘un grand oumo,’ a great man, a great man. I am simple”. He also says this is a different time. People don’t have the same ‘simpatia’, a mutual feeling of respect and recognition, like they used to. He is married to a German woman a few heads taller than him and has triplet boys. “They love the work,” he says, “but I don’t want them to stay here. They are educated and should take a different route.”
Meanwhile, his sons come and go, each one of them blonde and tan and more handsome and capable than the next. At 17, they will always have Amalfi as home and their father as an inspiration of how to live a meaningful life with meaningful work.
Aneillo stops by again with a present of large, yellow, sfuso amalfitano lemons that we will perfume our water with and make a sauce for spaghetti al limone. We say goodbye, eye to eye. I feel like I am in the presence of an unsung legend. Another one of the greats who are still present, but in transition with their work. I don’t leave without giving Aniello a jar of homemade jam. I am now prepared for the exchange of gifts, something he isn’t prepared for, but accepts willingly.
Now I get the hold the gaze of the port master as we sail out into the bay until the harbor is no longer visible. He does not move.
When all is said and done, what we do here at PMCA is all about people. Those we meet and those we travel with. The ingredients that become familiar and the recipes we learn bloom into larger stories, even after we have returned home.
During this 20th Anniversary year, we are making it a priority to collect and share stories from our alumni, about the moments that stand out and the ways that a trip with PMCA has impacted your lives upon returning home.
We invite you! to send them as emails, to record them as videos or audio, to include photos and/or to post them on our facebook page.
Here, we would like to share a story from Kate Fortney, who has attended our Tuscany and Morocco programs with her husband, Heschel - and will soon join us in Spain!
Kate and Heschel in the kitchen on our Fall 2010 program in Morocco.
In 2000, we took our first trip with Peggy. It was Heschel's 50th year and for his birthday celebration we decided a cooking school in Florence would be a great way to commemorate the milestone. It was a perfect trip: accomodations were comfortable, our classmates all seem to be kindred spirits, the excursions were a perfect accompaniment for the classes - informative, but more importantly a wonderful way to meet Tuscans and experience the culture. And of course the food was fantastic. And although even 11 years later we have detailed memories of each day, our story really happened after we came home.
I guess Piero's class just made all the cooking seem so easy. Once we arrived home, swelled with confidence, we invited several friends over for an Italian dinner using the recipes we'd learned. Heschel was making a chicken dish that required the chicken to be deboned. After pretty much shredding his first attempt, he opted to use boneless chicken breasts from the store. I took on making the ravolli. While the ragu and stuffing came out well, for some reason it took three attempts to get the pasta dough right and then I struggled to get it rolled thin enough. Luckily we had some frozen ravolli that we mixed in.
While I was having my ravolli crisis, Hesch was whipping up tiramisu. Since I had my back to him, I'm not sure exactly what went wrong. All I know, is that all of sudden I heard him cry out, "Oh no, they are floating!" When I turned around, his ladyfinger cakes were popping up to the surface. He went back to the store for ready-made.
By the time our guests arrived, we had regained our sense of humor and were able to greet them at the door with, "Welcome to our Italian dinner, where every course has a story." And ultimately that's what Peggy's wonderful culinary trip in Florence gave us-besides some new cooking skills, an appreciation that it isn't about the perfection of the food, it is about sharing that food with friends and creating memories.
In honor of our 20th Anniversary year, we have designed a trip to commemorate all of the chefs, artisans, farmers, estate owners, and characters that we have worked with for nearly 2 decades.
A once-in-a-lifetime culinary tour of Florence, Liguria and the 'Bay of Poets', and the island of Elba. With an optional sailing extension around Procida and the Amalfi coast.
Grapes hung to dry for Vin Santo, Tuscany.
We begin at 'La Cucina al Focolare' in the Florentine hills, where Chef Piero still drives the mothership even more skillfully after 20 years. We'll settle into the Chianti countryside, taste and cook the same rich, extra-virgin olive oil-based traditional Tuscan dishes from our wood fired ovens.
La Cucina al Focolare, Florence, Italy.
Next, we travel to Angelo Cabani's gastronomic hotel, Locanda Miranda, overlooking the Bay of Poets, where the most important ingredient is 'amacizia' (friendship). We'll be in the artistic hands of Angelo's 75 years, 60 of which he's spent in the kitchen mastering fish.
Tellaro, Liguria, Italy.
Already on the coast, we'll be drawn to the rustic island of Elba, to Luciano Cassini's well-loved alley-way restaurant, 'Il Chiasso,' for an unforgettable experience with a treasured chef from a disappearing era.
Luciano Cassini, chef, clown and actor, with Peggy on the island of Elba.
We'll end the program back in the city of Florence, where we will hit all of the old haunts - cafés and wine bars, the markets, and a celebratory dinner at Cibreo.
Cibreo Caffé in the center of Florence.
Come prepared to be surprised!
Guest Natalie Beck on deck of the 'Tonnado' off the coast of Amalfi.
For more information or to reserve your room, please email us or call our booking coordinator, Merete, at 303-910-0897.
Pricing: Double: $6200/per person Single: $6750
Program includes:
~ Accommodations and most meals
~ Cooking classes and visits with local chefs and artisans
~ Transportation between Florence, Liguria, and Elba
~ Market excursions, kitchen clowns, produce jugglers, Tuscan fires, singing bus drivers, poetic moonlit nights, full bellies, laughter, plenty of world-class vino and saucy sommeliers... and your open-hearted willingness to enjoy the celebration!
A few years ago, our friend Moya told us a story about her Tuscan mother-in-law, who used this phrase in a sentence when her husband told a bit of gossip. She said, “Tiramisu le calze!! Well, pick up my stockings!” It’s our favorite elegant dessert and always pleases.
1/4 cup fine-quality bittersweet chocolate shavings or 2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
8 “balloon” red wine glasses
Beat together yolks and 1/2 cup sugar in a large bowl with an electric mixer at medium speed until thick and pale, about 2 minutes. Beat in mascarpone until just combined.
Beat whites with a pinch of salt in another bowl with cleaned beaters until they just hold soft peaks. Add remaining 1/4 cup sugar a little at a time, beating, then continue to beat whites until they just hold stiff peaks. Beat cream in another bowl with cleaned beaters until it just holds soft peaks. Fold cream into mascarpone mixture gently but thoroughly, then fold in whites.
Stir together coffee and Vin Santo in a shallow bowl. Dip 1 ladyfinger in coffee mixture, soaking it about 2 seconds on each side, break it into with your fingers and transfer to the wine glass. Pipe the marscapone mixture into the glass with an icing pipe bag and layer with another soaked ladyfinger. Top it off with another swirl of marscapone mixture. Fill the glass only half full. Fill your other wine glasses.
Chill tiramisu, covered, at least a couple of hours. Just before serving, sprinkle with cocoa or shave with chocolate.
Paul Grimes smelling the roses at Jalil Belkamel's aromatherapy garden in Marrakech.
"My name is Peggy Markel and I haven't written a blog in over 15 days". This is what I imagine a meeting at Bloggers Anonymous would sound like. In this case, I confess that I can't keep up with blogging, or other social media word flow. My life moves fast in the "slow food and travel" lane.
Just this late summer and fall, I have kept moving at the speed of light. I've been steeped in poetry, fed warm sheepsmilk ricotta, tasted numerous full-bodied wines, eaten rustic ragus, seafood stews and delicate volutes topped with fennel pollen and drizzles of aromatic oils on various stuffed pastas, meats and frilly fresh salads. I've sucked on salt chocolate, cinnamon chocolate, hot Sicilian chocolate and soon to be, ambergris chocolate. I've traveled by air, train, ferries, sailboat and zodiac. At times, I switched to donkeys, camels, mopeds and bicycles. Even when I have stopped for a few short days here and there, I am constantly asked to do something, organize something (even a closet), make plans, write out a recipe, think of a plan for next year (but right now), price something, talk to this person, introduce that person, meet these people, re-pack a bag, hop a taxi, book a ticket, or deal with the details of the moment. Old and new friends are constantly coming and going.
This sort of existence has texture and depth, rich in meaningful, earthy experiences. A constant massage, it touches the places that love attention, offering a sensual smorgosbord for the eyes, ears, nose and palate, engaging me deeply in body, speech and mind. So much so, that at times I feel like my life is like a flimsy lacy petticoat, hanging half way off the shoulder and my legs are dangling out the window of a brothel. Enough already.
I have a thousand stories to tell and many details of discoveries to share. Most of them seem like they wait like wallflowers to be noticed or disappear all together.
Today, with another bag to pack and upcoming transition to make, I sat down to write instead. I made a cup of assam tea with a precious pinch of thé petales (rose petal tea) from Miller Harris. It was a gift from the perfumer herself. I met Lyn Harris at Jnane Tamsna in Marrakech. We share a passion, not only for tea, but for this private guesthouse that we frequent every year. It feels like a home away from home. I know everyone, including the carob trees and rose bushes, surely she knows every aromatic plant.
The interesting thing, is that I was aware of her perfume before I met her. I have her "fig" and "fluer oriental." Unusual fragrances, they stand apart from the plethora of powdery perfumes. Meeting her on casual turf in caftans and bare feet brought a certain air of authenticity to her product and mutual like-mindedness of mood.
"Drinking rare and beautiful teas has always been an essential luxury," says Lyn Harris. "Inspired by the delicate art of balancing flavor and aroma, Lyn has combined the world's finest teas with pure, natural extracts to create a collection of blends with top, heart and base notes. This tea demands the prettiest of cups. Smooth and sensual Turkish rose combines with velvet notes of vanilla Ceylon. A heart of Taiwanese White Tip Oolong is entwined with geranium bourbon from the island of Reunion to create a delicate refreshing cup. " So says the back of the tea canister.
So that description my friends..."is my cup of tea," on this fine Sunday afternoon in Florence. Life no longer hanging out the window, but sitting quite properly enjoying one's tea in a pretty cup reading a novel, Everything Beautiful Began After by Simon Van Booy.
This September's program in Sicily was our first in two years, and in many ways we were unsure about what we would find. We were pleasantly surprised to see how Fabrizia Lanza is tending her mother, Anna Tasca Lanza's exquisite garden and cooking school. This was the first trip since the passing of Anna Tasca Lanza, great friend and renowned cookbook author, whose estate, Regaleali was—and still is, the centerpiece of our program.
We found some things changed, as things often are over time, and other things we found to be as expected. In the end, we left re-invigorated about Sicily and its future. The island's deep flavors and rough landscape is still unlike any other in Italy, and we were pleased to find that a younger, innovative generation is now carrying culinary traditions forward. We are excited to be on the crest of this new Sicilian wave, and look forward to bringing you, our guests, along for the ride.
One of my favorite global expressions is, "same, same but different." Here are a few examples of what we found:
Palermo was cleaner than I'd remembered and the view from our third story apartment revealed the myth that Palermitani eat way into the night. At midnight the streets were still lined with table after table and the grill was smoking away with large tenticled species.
Ristorante Francu e Pescatori is still alive and well. Still hard to get to, but well worth the trip into the underworld to find it. Chef Franco is as generous as ever, and passionate about his cooking and his ancestry.
The mythical landscape of the Regaleali wine estate is the same "as it ever was."
Fabrizia set a table outside under Anna's Palm, and a blanket of stars. Dancing to live music in the barn on our last night, was a "first" at Regaleali.
Anna's garden is even fuller of forgotten fruits, pistachio, figs and flowers, than it was before. A legacy she left to Fabrizia who is caring for it and sharing it generously.
Modicans have always had a good sense of style. Good friend Innocenzo Pluchino, has put a simple, classic touch on his Beach Club, where the food equally matches the aesthetic in taste and to the eye. Bingo.
Bonajuto is still mixing and melting chocolate, but not just any chocolate and not just to any temperature. New flavors to us are being developed from recipes from the 1700s. Stay tuned.
Our new friends, the Padovas at Mastri Di San Basilio, showed us the simplicity of "materia prima" with the unadulterated tasting of their prestigious extra virgin olive oil, and the fine restoration of their country house, surrounded by 450 acres of verdese and maresco olives.
Wonders never cease at Catania's ancient Fish Market. Still alive with fresh starry-eyed fish, whole and separated into hunks of fresh flesh ready for a cooks able hand. Sights of purple cauliflower, mounds of melanzana, compact and shiny, ready to fry, grill, or put into a parmigiano. Fruit, innards, and various forms of cacciocavallo cheese, line the old market's streets.
We were delighted by our cooking class at Katane Palace. A fine place to stay in Catania's historic center. Smoked ventresca (which we smoked right in the kitchen, see photo above), fish stock, seafood risotto and tomato emulsion with gamberi crudi was just right.
The home-made chocolate gelato helped the sun go down...
Join us next year to taste a bit of the old and the new in Sicily: September 6-13, 2012.
or: use a bit of crushed red pepperoncino for pizzazz!
Rinse the fish and set aside. Chop cherry tomatoes in half. ‘Mise en place’ the e.v.o.oil, olives, garlic, tomatoes, basil and fish.
Choose appropriate frying pan. Add olive oil, garlic and tomatoes. Toss around
in the pan for 5 minutes. Add olives and basil. Let simmer for another 5 minutes.
Add fish on top of the sauce. .Salt and pepper the fish…or pop it with the pepperoncino. Splash the pan with the white wine. Cook on low-medium heat. Put on a lid and let it steam for 5 minutes.
Check your fish for doneness, but touching it. If it springs back, it should be done, along with an aroma of cooked fish. Flip the fish if needed, otherwise,
turn off the heat and let it steam for another few minutes. Check for flavor
balance, adding another pinch of salt if needed.
Serve the fish by spooning the sauce over it. Add a fresh leaf of basil for garnish.
Our first morning sail took us around to the south side of Procida, to see the panoramic pastel houses that grace the island, all bunched together like a bee colony.
Historically, the various house colors had a purpose. A sailor could spot his house from afar and see if his wife was waiting for him in the window.
Sunny with a bit of good wind, we calculated our sail to Ventotene, 16k away at 8-9 knots, to take 4 hours. Tony Tony, our captain, has a keen sense to head straight to where the wind is. An avid sailor, he rides the waves like captain Ahab rode his great white whale.
We are not talking huge ocean waves—but the Mediterranean can kick up some activity. The adventurous part of my culinary program is often accented with a few unexpected edgy experiences that keep our name valid. This undoubtedly puts a smile on some faces and a look of surprise on others.
Angelo Cabani is a mentor of mine. A spectacular chef, with big eyes, a big mustache, and a huge appetite for fine and tasty fish.
His restaurant, Locanda Miranda, is located in what he likes to call his "gastronomic hotel" by the sea. It is perched above the Bay of Poets in the pastel village of Tellaro, ancestral home of his family since the 13th century.
This Ligurian coastal settlement has seen it's share of marauders since the days of the Saracens.
According to local legend, the watchman fell asleep and the rope to the bell tower fell into the sea. An octopus from the rocky shore below got entwined in the rope and trying to break free, woke up the town with his continual clanging. As luck would have it, the town awoke, expecting an attack just as a ship of Saracens were preparing to ascend. Lets just say that a lot of hot boiling oil was used and the village was saved...by an octopus! Angelo doesn't often use frutti di mare, but prefers deeper ocean fish, scampi and smaller fishes that swim around the rocks.
He cooks with traditional recipes and ingredients, but steps it up a notch. "People don't go out to eat what they can get at home," says Angelo. His challenge is to make it interesting.
Writing about Capri today, I savor the thought of fresh cherry tomatoes with wild arugula, a signature summer dish with fruity extra-virgin olive oil.
But in February, I am in Colorado, and this winter salad strikes a cord. It has a European sensibility and taste for a winter’s want for something light and tasty.
This recipe came from my friend, Frank Stitt, perhaps my favorite American chef and southern gentleman. His restaurants Highlands Bar and Grill and Bottega, in Birmingham, Alabama are unbelievably good. His flavors, produce and know-how are completely authentic. I stepped into Bottega for the first time 8 years ago, ordered a fried oyster salad and fell in love. I said to the waiter, "Who is this man?!"
A winter salad sure to please, as we look forward to the brightness of spring.
> 2 T extra virgin olive oil > 1/4 lb pancetta in one piece, unrolled and cut into lardoons (1/4 by 1/4 strip)
> 1 shallot finely chopped
> 8 very fresh organic eggs > Maldon sea salt and freshly ground pepper
> 4 cups of mixed young lettuces, such as frisee, arugula, young big and romaine
> 2-3 T of Sherry vinegar
> 4 slices of baguette
Warm the olive oil in a large sauté pan over medium heat. Add the pancetta and cook for 2-3 minutes, until it just begins to crisp and render it’s fat. Add the shallots and cook for one minute until softened.
Meanwhile, beat the eggs and season with sea salt an pepper. Pour the eggs into the sauté pan and cook over medium-low heat, stirring until the eggs are just set, 2-3 minutes.
Combine the lettuces in a large bowl and season with salt and pepper. Add the vinaigrette and toss.
Add the warm eggs to the salad greens and toss lightly. Divide the "egg salad" among four plates and garnish with toasts.
I just received a beautiful letter from my friend Raffaella Antoniazzi in Florence. It was written in Italian and I have translated it. Oh how I wish I could send it in Italian, as it is written so sweetly.
'La tacchina, deve essere una femmina perche la carne e piu morbida.....'
"il ripieno e di salsiccie di maiale, prugne secche senza nocciolo, e castagne che vengono cotte
sulle brace, pelate e ripassate in una padellina con il burro e l'alloro..'
Italians don't celebrate Thanksgiving of course, but they do eat turkey for Christmas. I would like to pass this along to you to use if you are looking for something unusually good for your Thanksgiving table this year, or save it for Christmas...that is if you can wait.
Raffaella collects Primitive American quilts and has some of the most beautiful ones I have ever seen.
She has a passion for true American design from her days at Biedermeyer in New York. Looks like she has taken a bit after her grandmother Antoniazzi.
Hello Dear,
I'm sending you the turkey recipe from 'La Nony' Antoniazzi, the mother of my father and aunt Bebi.
She was born in San Pellegrino, near Bergamo in Lombardia and was the daughter of Tommaso Manfredi, the doctor of the village. A handsome man who attended to the sick by horseback from village to village.
La Nony (Erminia, said Mimmina), is also my middle name. she was the second of three children between Tommasina and Pino. She was a fantastic cook, but not only. She painted, wrote (the story of her life!) and had other brilliant ideas that were too forward for her time. She was an Aquarius. I adored her.
Here is the recipe. She must be a female turkey because the meat will be more tender e 'non troppo grande' for 8-10 people.
(Italian recipes are often written out in sentence or paragraph form as is this one.)
Clean the cavity of the turkey well, then sprinkle good 'sale marino' (sea salt) inside and out, but don't exaggerate.
The stuffing is pork sausage, pitted dried prunes, and chestnuts that have been cooked on an open fire, peeled and mashed in a pan with butter and bay leaf.
You stuff the turkey with this delicious mixture and set it in a pan with high sides. The base of the pan should have generous olive oil and butter, (don't exaggerate) as the pork has fat as well. We want it
to be tasty but not too heavy. Put in a few bay leaves and whole black peppercorns also.
The oven should be hot at the beginning to brown the meat for the first 20 minutes. (400F?) It's important to use a baster to marinate the meat from above. Then turn the oven down to let it cook more slowly until done. (350F?) During the cooking, bathe with a heated broth that you have prepared before.
Take out of the oven, let rest, then carve! Bon appetito~
Inside our sailboat the 'Swamy', cooking on a gimbled stove.
photos by: Hank Strauss
Zuppa di Pesce Panaresca
(Fish soup from the Aeolian Island of Panarea)
1 kilo of fresh prawns
3 fresh squid
1/2 kilo of vongole verace (clams)
2 red mullet
a few cherry tomatoes
1 can of cherry tomatoes, peeled
olive oil
4 cloves of garlic, chopped
white wine
a bunch of parsley, chopped fine
salt to taste pepperoncino (cayenne) a dash to taste
Peel the prawns, separating prawn from shell. Set the prawns aside. Bring a pot of water to a simmer and drop in prawn shells.
Clean and cut the heads off the mullet. Fillet the fish, cut into 2 to 3 pieces and set aside. Add heads and bones to the broth.
Rinse and tap the clams (looking for a "flat" sound that may indicate a shell without a clam but full of sand). Set aside.
Clean the squid by taking out what’s inside the tube. Peel off the thin outer layer. Slice into rings. Set aside.
Peel and flatten garlic. Rinse and dry. Chop parsley fine. Set aside. Quarter the cherry tomatoes and set aside.
Put a generous drizzle of olive oil in the bottom of a large sauté pan. Add chopped garlic and simmer until barely golden. Add pepperoncino, half the parsley and the tomatoes. Stir until saucy. Salt and pepper. Strain and add the broth.
Heat a separate pot. Add some olive oil and a little garlic. Add the clams. Toss them in the hot pan, splash them with white wine and cover the pot with a lid. Steam for 3 minutes, or until the clams open and give up their liquid. Add to the pot. (Be careful not to let any possible residual sand from the pot liquor to slide in.)
Season prawns (or shrimp) and squid with a quick toss in a frying pan, with olive oil, parsley and salt. Set aside. Add to the pot. I like to season things separately before adding the pot, it deepens the flavor. Otherwise, you could just skip this.
Correct salt and pepper . Add the rest of the fish and fish broth if you have some leftover. Let it simmer to marry, but not so long to overcook the seafood.
Garnish with parsley. Serve with garlic toasts. Should be flavorful and spicy.
P.S. Broth can be used for making Risotto, shrimp and squid can be cooked right into the rice.
Scampi in the shell, clams, etc. can be added on top of the risotto before serving.
Last night was the festa for Luciano's restaurant as you know. 30 years! It was one of those parties where you don't know but one or two people apart from the host. I started to wonder why I came. That odd moment of getting all dressed up and standing around with your plate in your hand, trying to find a corner to put one's glass down.
I felt rather like a bird with my plumes spread, somehow there for the looking but not for the talking. Then I heard the name 'Lia'. I saw on old woman sitting in the back with longish gray hair
and sun glasses on, surrounded by people. I realized that this was Luciano's beloved aunt that I had heard so much about but had never met. She is almost 80 now; an alumni of Columbia University when Eisenhower was the president (of the school). She studied philosophy and taught in Rome for many years. She is the real story.
She quotes Dante, the Greeks, Shakespeare, sings Frank Sinatra, and can drink almost anyone under the table. She see's your very soul. The drink might as well have been coffee this night, as her performance grew more intense and passionate without a waver. She was the most awake of all of us in every sense and was still going strong until 3 am. Dagmar, Luciano's x wife and I took her home. We arrived and she said.."Peggy, Peggy, questo e il mio castello! Guarda come bello!" This is my castle, see how beautiful it is! Like my aunt Sarah, she lives alone without a car deep in the countryside in a glorified hut. Books were stacked unevenly on all tables. There was not much light in the house. She is legally blind but her memory is stellar.
When I first came to Elba and met Luciano, I knew then why Fabio was Fabio (Picchi~ of Cibreo fame in Florence) and why he had sent me there. He was heavily influenced by Luciano as he spent every summer in Elba and learned Luciano's gregarious, fearless, rustic ways of cooking. He took it and refined it. His habit of wearing red pants and orange shirts came from Luciano. He borrowed his fascination, as Luciano's 'devil may care' attitude, also suited his.
Now upon meeting Lia, I understood where Luciano's gioia di vivere' came from. His first trip with Lia to the movies when he was 10 years old, changed his life. She transported him away from the provinciality of Capoliveri in his mind and from there, she became his mentor. Luciano went on to live and work abroad, learn a few different languages and even became an actor in films. The restaurant, a stage for all of his talents.
The story does not end there. Lia had a mind of her own. Islands make strong women, especially if they are educated. Her sister's family moved to Australia with young children. When the nephew's returned grown and gorgeous, she fell in love with one of them, 8 years her junior.
It was shocking for everyone including them. They asked to be married by permission from the Pope and he granted it. Yet, they never married. He died early in an accident.
Lia remained unmarried, but not unhappy. She would raise her fists and quote Dante with bravado! She loved the world and it's mystery.
These women keep showing up..whether in Alabama, West Virginia, or here in Capoliveri. Their stories need to be told.
I'm off to the beach. Soon it will be a conversation 'voce a voce'. We'll be discussing how sweet the tomatoes taste this time of year..and how gentle the breeze feels today.
Big kiss,
Peggy li. ( she called me Peggy li as a form of endearment all night, not knowing my name was
Peggy Leigh.)
ps. she can't wait to meet you. New York never leaves a young woman's soul.
...........................................
Lia died some years later. She had magic in her bones. She could quote the greats with great command, never missing a line. Sally came to Elba for a big birthday from New York. She brought Lia the New York Times. For a few years after that, she couldn't stop talking about the kindness of Sally li. Lia will be sorely missed. Her legend, a strong, shooting star.
Anna Tasca Lanza, my mother, passed away on the evening of July 12. It happened with no suffering at all, while she was sleeping.
In these last months I have been so very close to her that it is difficult for me to talk about her or about our relationship. I think that memories and feelings will rise up, floating like oil on water, little by little, every day now for the rest of my life.
Nevertheless, I would like to share some of my thoughts with all the friends who receive my newsletter and who know about our cooking school, which Anna built from nothing in 1989 and that I have been proudly pursuing since 2004.
The first sign of my mother's illness was that she was not willing to cook anymore. She completely lost her appetite, and when I went on holiday last summer, I found upon my return that Mum and Dad had simply stopped eating, a fact complicated by the heat, the loneliness, the loss of enthusiasm.... The moment I came back I suddenly found myself inverting the usual familial roles; I had to start cooking for my parents and found that it wasn't simple at all!
Mummy was fussy, like anyone who has lost her appetite and doesn't feel like eating anything but a very few and precious things. I realized I had to catch up with food, which in my childhood had meant comfort food for both of us, the food we used to eat on the blue table of the kitchen when Dad wasn't home (he hates peasant food!)...Anna and I, whispering and giggling together about anything we talked about.
At that point I realized that these comfort foods were the only things my mother would enjoy eating: capellini in brodo con la ricotta, spaghetti con la salsa, fave bollite, gazpacho, pasta con le zucchine fritte, minestra di zucchine e tenerumi, plus an endless variety of sweets, which she had always adored: lemon curd, taralli, blancmange, almond brittle, chocolate mousse. In fact, what she most demanded in her food was love, and I would use "all my love" as the main ingredient.
In her last month she was completely out of the world of food, managing only fruit juices and pistachio and walnut ice cream. She wouldn't talk, she wouldn't open her eyes. Now and then she would move her right arm or squeeze my hand very gently when I told her about my children, Ruggero and Virginia. I was afraid to experiment with foods because she very quickly got tired with our timid feeding temptations.
One day I decided I would dare something new, since she had always had a love for fresh, rather acidic and sweet flavors. With the fresh citruses from the garden, I made a lemon granita.
She ate it, and in a whisper she said, "Squisito."
This is the last comprehensible word I recall my mother saying. I love her so much for this last present, for being capable of appreciating quality and pleasure up to her last moments...I will never forget it.
His head fell into my lap with exhaustion, preceded by the rest of his Neapolitan body. He was wet and cold and the night sea water was rough and dangerous.
A fisherman’s trawling net was caught in the motor of our sail boat. A family of seven and a crew of three were with us on an overnight transfer from fire-breathing Stromboli in the Aeolian islands, off the northern coast of Sicily, to the great seaside city of Napoli. Darkness fell and the boat motored on. It was rough, our 46-foot Beneteau swimming upstream directly into the wind. Tough conditions for sailing in any case, but more pleasant to navigate if not been in a rush. We needed to get the family back, so we motored full-throttle.
We waited for the darkness to bring calm, a chance to sit down to a proper dinner, but that calm never came. Unusual for the Mediterranean.
We were hungry but afraid to eat. The sky was clear and stars appeared, but the sea churned as if the wind had an invisible hand in the stirring. It was going to be a long night. I gave my guests bread with honey as to comfort.
I went to my own cabin near the prua to try for sleep though the dishes were crashing around in their holds. A stray closet door kept breaking loose, swinging open with a bang. With my son, Graham, helping watch I shut out the chaos in my small cabin. Five minutes later, hearing a huge noise, I bounced up and ran out to the poppa, the stern, to take a look.
Captain Nardella, 36, knife in hand, was stripping off, heading into the crashing water. A fisherman’s trawling net was tangled in the motor. If he couldn’t get it loose by hand, he would have to cut it. He knew that if he didn’t free it, we would have to wait for the fishermen to come to us, which would take hours, equivalent to a flat tire in the middle of nowhere in a storm.
Dripping, he came up onto the deck and revved the motor stronger, standing in his wet tee-shirt. I offered him a dry one. He wouldn’t take it, the wet shirt drying on his body in the cool wind. His bare legs were exposed; hairy, tan and strong. Once he was sure we were out of danger, he felt the cold. A deep chill set in alongside the exhaustion. He bundled in a wind parka while I took a turn on watch.
Sitting cross-legged with my back to the boat, I told Tony to rest his head in my lap. It would keep my legs warm and give him a place to lay his head. There were no other dry places to sit on the boat. He collapsed and I covered him in the only wool blanket on board.
Jumping into the waves had been heroic, risky and a bit renegade. A short rest was in order. He was tense and trembling. Trying to get a few winks in between watches is a captain’s classic dilemma. He would get comfortable, then shoot up to look around, then close his eyes again.
I stroked his forehead, trying to relax him. It relaxed me as well. We were in this together. He turned onto his side and ever-so-gently put his hand on my crossed leg to brace himself. It was the touch of a gentleman. I looked down at this man in my lap, this hunk of courage, so gentle, sweet, capable and intelligent and…felt a pull in my heart. His broad shoulders fit into the curl of my legs. It was not just his love of the sea, his spontaneous opera when at the helm, he was not only a capable captain, but a sensitive intellectual with a PhD in wild orchids. (Napoli was once the cultural capitol of Italy and the place to send your children to be educated.)We spoke once, on the bow of the boat, about his good fortune. He was full of gratitude to be born in Napoli, the son of a doctor, at the foot of Vesuvius in a village of sailors. He spoke willingly about his Napolitanita, how they thrive on drama, deep feeling and the friggatura; the clever getting away with va fan cuolo rule-breaking that delights a free soul and their appetite for living in the flesh, eating well,living large, simply and sensibly.
When the elements were with us, instead of against us, sailing with him was a blue dream, like being on the back of the surfboard of a skilled surfer, going up and down the swells with controlled abandon. Whehew! Fantastico! Che pezzo di oumo! What a man!
How I appreciated the man he had become. One to scoop up, to have and to hold. It wasn’t the years between us or the fact that he was already taken that made it impossible. Or that I have no Neopolitanita’ in purezza to match, fiery and demanding enough to hold the line. Nor do I have soft cappuccino-colored skin. It wasn't about that.
I missed in that moment, a man of my own to adventure with, wondering if there is such a match for me. There was no rain, but my cheeks were curiously wet. Emotions tumultuous as the the sea.
Then I realized; I am forever meeting and adventuring with amazing men and women in my work, all the time. Relationships can be geographical, about place, and connection. About the wind. Something unspoken. A glance. Trying to keep others and each other safe in a storm. An unconditional relationship, strong, available and true.
A smile cracked through like the sun.
Tony Tony, moi e Anello, Amalfi portmaster.
We eventually arrived safely in port after 22 hours of rough seas, what normally takes 16 on smooth. The drama, and the tenderness, now a thoughtful memory.
Lori de Mori, food writer and one of my best friends, gave me this recipe a few years back. It was given to her by Contessa Lisa Contini Bonacossi of Tenuta di Capezzana one of the finest wine and olive oil producers in Tuscany. Whenever we gather for big lunches or dinners, Lori most often says, 'Via, I'll make Capezzana cake and we'll all be happy'. Big tea drinkers, we are even happier when there is some left over for tea as well.
A great-grandmother, with seven children of her own, Lisa Contini knows a few things about cooking and no less about sweets. Her husband, Conte Ugo, is one of the best producers of Vin Santo, the quintessential Tuscan desert wine. The Tuscan's aren't big on pastries, preferring dolce secche 'dry sweets', like cookies or a simple cake.
Tuscan's are no strangers to doing things their own way, refusing to use salt in their bread to avoid being taxed. Here, they avoid using butter, in favor of using what they have; orci, large terracotta containers full of some of the most flavorful olive oil in the world. Records show that olive trees were first planted in Capezzana over 1200 years ago.
This cake is moist and delicious. I varied the recipe to include almonds, as I adore nut cakes. I have also been known to substitute a cup of honey for the sugar. It deepens the flavor and harmonizes with a glass of Vin Santo, like 'a kiss on the lips.'
Capezzana Olive Oil Cake
Grated zest of 3 oranges, juice of one
1 ½ cups granulated sugar (or 1 cup of honey)
2 cups flour
1 tsp salt
½ tsp baking soda
½ tsp baking powder
1 ½ cups extra-virgin olive oil (the better the olive oil, the better the cake)
1 ½ cups whole milk (or milk alternative)
3 large egg
1 cup of crushed almonds (optional alla P.M.)
Preparation:
Center an oven rack and preheat the oven to 350F. Lightly coat the cake pan with olive oil. Set aside.
In a large bowl, rub together the orange zest and sugar until the sugar is moist and fragrant. In a sieve, combine the flour, salt, baking soda, and baking powder and crushed almonds. Sift over the sugar. Whisk to combine the dry ingredients, then make a well in the center. In a large liquid measuring cup, combine the oil, milk, and eggs. Whisk to combine, then pour the dry ingredients into the well and slowly draw in the flour mixture, whisking until incorporated. The mixture should be fairly smooth before you draw in more flour. Mix well.
Pour the batter into the prepared cake pan. It should be no more than three-quarters full. Place in the middle of the rack.
Bake for 35-40 minutes until nicely browned and firm to the touch.
Serve with a fruit compote, Vin Santo, or eat plain with a little dust of powdered sugar on top.
I"m making this cake today for my daughter's 30th birthday. Wheat and dairy intolerant, this is the perfect cake for her, without a compromise on flavor, or making everyone else suffer through a highly processed gluten-free cake mix. I will substitute wheat flour for almond flour and soymilk for the milk. Everyone will be happy.
p.s. I recommend looking for Capezzana's 2009 harvest extra-virgin olive in certain high end stores if there's any left, or putting your name on the list for November 2010 harvest from Manacaretti, fine importers of classic Italian foods.
p.p.s. Lori's book, Beaneaters and Bread Soup, photographed by her husband, London photographer Jason Lowe, is one of the most endearing books on Tuscan food artisans. Lisa Contini Bonacossi's cake recipe is in there, with a charming photo, only Jason could capture.
